When DC asked me a few months ago if I wanted to go house hunting, I had a strong hunch that beneath the invitation lay a thinly disguised marriage proposal.

But I tried not to think about that.

As long as I saw the act of looking for a house as an arm's length exercise — a house for him, not necessarily for us — I could keep my breathing, and my fragile butterfly of a heart, under control.

In other words, I could keep my head on straight.

DC, being the perceptive man that he is, knew that talk of marriage, or in our case remarriage, made me want to climb high up a tree and stay there. He also knew – and who doesn't? — that the way to my heart is through my home.

I had already fallen for DC. Once I fell for a house, I'd be a goner.

Knowing that, the invitation still proved irresistible. Going house hunting gives me a warm melty-chocolate feeling inside for two reasons: I cannot resist sizing up properties and getting a voyeur's view into how others live. I also like to look at houses and dream, just a little, about another life I might possibly live. Maybe. If the end of every rainbow lands on me.

"When people go looking for a house, what they are really looking for is their vision for their future," said Rhonda Duffy, a top Atlanta real estate agent who has sold more than 17,000 houses, so I trust her on this subject. "It requires a leap of faith."

"I'd rather tiptoe toward faith," I said.

However, after four years of living in and staging other people's houses to help them sell — an arrangement that has allowed me to live in lovely homes for a low price in exchange for my decorating skills and some flexibility — I could see jumping at the chance for a permanent address and no lockbox on the door.

Sure, I could keep living my vagabond life as a human prop, or I could be open to the prospect of a wonderful stable home with a wonderful stable man. (Yeep! Someone please give me a shot of something 100 proof.)

"I don't want you to have to go through that again," DC said, after my sixth move to my current staging project.

That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

After looking at 100 houses online, and more than a dozen in person, the inevitable happened.

We found a house. I loved the happy yellow house from the moment I walked in. Out front on the sidewalk, DC made an offer to buy it. Thirty days later the deal closed.

That afternoon, while the ink was still wet on the loan docs, DC asked me to meet him back at the happy yellow house. There, he opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a little box and asked me if I would marry him.

Now, traditionally, this is the point in my column where I offer concrete home design advice. This week I'm going to depart a bit and share some life philosophy regarding houses. Bear with me. It's not every day you buy a house and get engaged.

"House buying and relationships are inseparable," said Duffy, when I shared my real estate sojourn with her. "Some days I feel more like a marriage counselor than a Realtor."

Part of her counseling involves helping buyers understand "the right house for you changes with the seasons of your life," she said.

As I thought more about that comment, I reflected on the houses I have owned or lived in over the past three decades, and understood what she meant about the seasons of life, and the houses we choose:

• As a single professional, I had an urban townhome, close to my office, city life, friends and action.

• As a newlywed, I got a fixer in a good neighborhood that I could rebuild to fit my dreams and maybe make some money on.

• As a new mom, I wanted a larger home in a new, safe suburban neighborhood full of other young families, with room for a dog and a pool.

• As part of a growing active family of middle schoolers, I chose to build a big house on some land, close to outdoor recreation, and with plenty of room for entertaining.

• As a divorced single mother, with one daughter off to college and one finishing high school, I chose to rent houses to keep my options open while I figured out where I wanted to work and live.

• As an empty nester remarrying another empty nester, and as a home columnist who has spent more than a decade thinking and writing about home life, houses, and family in all its iterations, I now want a house high in character and low in maintenance, on a street with well-tended yards and mature landscape, because I don't want to wait for the trees to grow up. I want to walk to shops, theaters and restaurants, and have a short commute to work. And, with five kids between us — my two in college, his three in the working world — plus two kids-in-law, I want room for the kids to come home, but not all at once. Which is what I've got.

Jimmy Stewart was right: It's a wonderful life.

Join me next week as my long-suppressed inner home improver gets unleashed, and I begin work on the happy yellow house.

Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of two home and lifestyle books, and the forthcoming "Downsizing the Family Home: What to Keep, What to Let Go" (Sterling Press). Contact her through http://www.marnijameson.com.